


Missed You

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Blow Jobs, Feeling B era, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Heavy Petting, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Shyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 23:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21169316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Alone, Paul lounges at his flat, waiting for Flake's return. Upon Flake's arrival, Paul welcomes him into his bed with open arms for some long-awaited cuddling—and more.





	Missed You

**Author's Note:**

> This is [Feeling B era](https://66.media.tumblr.com/ce6e366b17f5bf7efc2431f5a2f2bb12/eae951583eb00652-8c/s250x400/d234f770774fce35579dcc81793d2ea33ee0377d.gifv), when they both had blonde hair. And Paul had his lovely mullet hehehe

The night sky is gorgeous. The stars are very stark, shrouded in darkness. Prominent in the way they shine. They peer back at him just as much as he peers at them. A smile is curling along his lips. A half-smoked cigarette burns between his fore and middle fingers, releasing ebbs of smoke in curling lines, to be swept out the ajar window. The fabric of the plaid drapes is caught between the fingers of his other hand; he absentmindedly fiddles with it, stroking the pad of his thumb along the scratchy material, subconsciously stimulated by the sensation of it. Joined by the image of the glistening stars, he is very occupied with absorbing his surroundings.

Eventually, he shakes himself out of his deep thoughts, breaking through the surface to come back to reality. He sinks back against the abundance of pillows, bunched against the corner where wall meets wall. The window above his bed welcomes a cool air that feels nice on his face. He slowly eases down onto his back, until his lengthy, blonde hair is splayed across the pillows, his eyes hooded and trained distantly out the window. He brings the cigarette to his lips. He takes in a drag.

Piercing the tranquility of the moment, he hears footsteps, the turn of the doorknob, and then the door is pushed open. Paul blearily looks over to see Flake standing there. His hand lingers on the doorknob, frozen as if he was surprised to see the older man laying upon his own bed. His hair is choppy and bleached blonde. He’s painfully cute, with that boyish, innocent face. He gives Paul a faint smile, a pull at the corner of his mouth.

Lifting the hand wielding the cigarette, Paul gestures him in with a curl of his fingers and a lazy grin. Flake enters, quietly shutting the door behind himself. Sweeping his gaze from Flake’s feet to his face, Paul notices he’s wearing black socks, dark pants with faded knees, and a pale red button-up shirt with thin stripes.

Meanwhile, Paul himself wears only an oversized hoodie and boxers. Paul arches a brow. Breaking the silence, he speaks while Flake approaches the bed, hand rubbing anxiously at his wrist as he does.

“Why are you wearing so much?” Paul asks, earning a glance from wary blue eyes, “Take off your pants.”

“I only just got here,” Flake wryly jokes, but agrees, as he demonstrates by unbuttoning his jeans and letting them fall. Now wearing only that shirt and his boxers, Flake climbs onto the bed. Paul giggles at this sight; Flake wearing a nice shirt, joined by plaid boxers and his black socks. How charming.

He quickly puts out his cigarette in his ashtray which sat on the chipping windowsill. Then, as expected, Flake collapses into the pillows, against Paul’s side. Paul immediately wraps his arms around him, rolling over to face him, nuzzling into his collar and neck. Flake huffs, flustered. He returns the embrace, holding him with his hand ending up in Paul’s wild, messy hair.

“Missed you,” Paul mumbles, his nose rubbing along Flake’s neck, enjoying the soft warmth of his skin. Flake blushes. He says nothing. He just holds him tighter. Paul draws a skinny leg around Flake’s, and then surprising the younger man, he shoots up into a seated position, breaking the embrace. Flake watches, brow knit, as Paul lurches over to grab onto the many thick blankets. Thick quilts with torn patches are soon piled over them both. Once satisfied, Paul reclaims his spot against Flake, tightly wrapping his arms around him, his slim hands stroking over his back lovingly. Flake relaxes in his hold. He noses at his explosion of blonde hair at his hairline and breathes him in.

“You stink like cigarette smoke,” he mumbles, squeezing Paul in his arms. He clings to him so tightly, Paul couldn’t even move if he cared to try. Paul mumbles incoherently and nuzzles ever further into Flake’s chest. They couldn’t possibly be closer than they are now. With the five blankets over them, their legs tangled, arms wound around each other, they both become very warm, but not uncomfortably so. It’s just right.

“This is really… Nice,” Flake says quietly, lamely. Paul snorts into his chest and then mumbles sleepily, “Mmh, yeah. It would be nicer if we were making out, though.”

Paul smiles to himself, hidden against Flake’s chest. He can already picture the full-face blush erupting across his skin. Flake clears his throat. He lightly rubs his hand up and down over Paul’s back through the thick hoodie. He speaks quietly, a half-minute later.

“I… Brushed my teeth before coming in.”

Planting a hand against the bed, Paul raises up to look down at him with a grin.

“So you’ll absolutely hate it when I infect your mouth with my nasty cigarette taste!”

Flake makes a face. Paul laughs. Flake heaves a sigh and brings a hand up to grind his fingers into his eyes.

“I’ll put up with it. Just this time. I’m too comfortable to demand you get up and brush your teeth.”

He drops his hand and looks at Paul with a frown—making sure Paul is aware just how repugnant he finds the concept. Paul rolls his eyes.

“I’ll get up, I’ll get up. Don’t you move, or else I’ll kick your butt.”

Without another word, Paul thrusts up from under the covers, stomps off the bed, and hurries out of the room—Flake watches him go, silently pleased he would do that for him.

It takes three minutes. He hears Paul’s vigorous scrubbing and then the swishing of the mouthwash, followed by the running of water. Then, Paul comes bursting back into the room, announcing with an outstretch of his arms, “My mouth is so fresh right now! Better take advantage of it, Flake!”

Then he jumps onto the bed, earning a sharp laugh from the younger man, jostling him. Paul quickly buries under the blankets, wiggling up against Flake’s warmer body again. Flake wraps his arms around him, pulling him in while smiling broadly, bringing out his dimples. Paul props up on his elbow and uses this advantage to lean in and kiss him on the forehead, nose in his bleached hair. He doesn’t waste time. He angles his head, smooching his way down Flake’s broad nose, over his cheek dotted with moles, and then crushes their mouths together. Flake moans. Paul hums into it, greatly pleased.

Flake’s big hands cup around Paul’s jaw, thumbs on his cheeks, and pulls him impossibly closer as their lips mash together. Paul moves to get on top of him. Blood immediately surges south—Flake gets an erection so fast, it leaves him utterly dazed and almost light-headed. Paul’s legs are tangled with his under the many blankets. Flake keeps one hand on Paul’s jaw, the other sliding around to hold the back of his head, fingers twisting in long, blonde locks.

“Wanted this all night. You trapped underneath me… So hard for me,” Paul detaches from him to breathe, before angling his head to begin mouthing over Flake’s jaw. Eyes closed, Flake turns his head, welcoming it. Paul’s words worsen his arousal. He’s breathing shakily, his hips arching up to grind his stiff cock into Paul’s belly—he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Paul bites at Flake’s neck and jaw. Flake is aware he’s sucking hard at the flesh caught between his teeth, leaving painful marks, but it doesn’t even occur to him that that’s a bad idea. It just turns him the fuck on. Flake digs his heels into the bed, his hand sliding down Paul’s back to grab his cute ass through his boxers. He anchors him to his body, keeping him pinned close while he begins to grind up into him. It feels so fucking good.

But it’s so hot, almost unbearably so. Flake is panting now, sweat brewing on his back, caught under his shirt. Paul’s lips seal over his again. Flake’s mind is blank in the haze of lust. Paul moans quietly against his mouth, sending a burst of heat into Flake’s belly. Paul’s hands clutch at him, alternating to so many different locations, as if he’s frustrated he can’t hold all of him at once.

The sound of their kissing is loud and wet in the silence of the bedroom, punctuated by the shuffling of blankets and body parts. Paul is kissing him so hard, Flake cannot even fathom to keep up. Paul’s tongue is in his mouth, tasting him. Their lips are locked, mindlessly pursing together. Flake’s face is beet red. His entire body is on fire. His cock is leaking a steady stream of pre-cum in his boxers. He can feel it.

And so can Paul, apparently, when said man sneaks a hand past the waistband of his boxers to fondle him. He grips his cock, strokes at it slowly from root to tip five times, and then wipes up the pre-cum with a thumb.

“Nngh… Paul…” Flake breathes, head craned back into the pillows, his glasses askew, weak blue eyes trained on Paul’s flushed face. Paul’s mouth is hanging open, his lips swollen and kissed, his eyes downcast to where his hand is lost under the blankets. His gaze pans back up to meet Flake’s. He licks his lips and then leans in, eyes closing, and kisses him again. Flake moans deliriously. Paul hums in response while slowly pulling at his cock in long, squeezing strokes that has Flake arching his hips up into it, begging for more. Their lips mash together all over again, wet and hungry. Flake can’t breathe. He gasps for air in-between every gluttonous purse of their mouths. Paul detaches a moment later, resting his forehead against Flake’s temple while Flake pants heavily, attempting to regain the breath he lost.

“Hold still,” Paul whispers, before suddenly moving away from him. Flake slumps back against the bed, overheated and dazed. He watches dimly while the older man strips off four blankets, leaving only one. It greatly reduces the feeling of suffocation. Then Paul slips under that quilt. Flake’s stomach twists tightly with arousal, realizing what he intends to do. Paul shoves up Flake’s buttoned shirt and mouths wetly at his heaving belly, even dipping his tongue into his belly button. Flake wiggles, sucking in a choked breath, staring down at the lump of Paul with wide eyes.

Then Paul kisses down to the waistband of his boxers. He doesn’t even hesitate. He tugs his underwear down to his knees under the blanket, and then a hot, very hot mouth engulfs his cock immediately, without stalling. Paul moans from under the covers, a vibration around the head of his dick. Flake jolts, gasping sharply. Paul immediately begins to move his head; he sucks him deeper and deeper into his mouth, tongue working against fire-stroked nerves. Flake is shaking so badly. He’s grabbing fistfuls of the covers, legs fidgeting under the quilt. He can only squeeze his eyes shut, which serves to amplify the sensation.

The sound of wet suction joins with Flake’s gasping and groaning. Somehow, it’s dirtier and in result more arousing with Paul under the covers like this, sucking him off as if it were a secret to be kept hidden. Paul’s hand is gripping the base, keeping it place as he bobs his head, his other hand roaming over Flake’s flexing thigh. Flake can’t take it anymore. Paul takes him farther in than before, far enough it has him choking from under the blanket, and it’s enough. Flake’s entire body clenches, muscles spasming, hands white-knuckled, as if he had just been struck by lightning. Flake’s head is thrown back, his choppy, blonde hair a mess, face in a grimace of pleasured agony. Paul keeps going despite this. He’s sucking tightly, so tightly he’s practically _nursing_ at him. Flake’s entire mind is static, wiped clean, as if Paul simply erased him through this one orgasm.

“Oh—Oh, God,” Flake gasps out hoarsely, slumping back into the bed when he’s released from the electrocution of his orgasm. His entire body is trembling. Paul’s mouth moves over him a few more times, a slow up and down with softer sucking now that the intensified sensation is dying down to a simmer. Flake can’t even _think._ He’s just panting, eyes closed, body limp with some lingering tension considering Paul is still going. But then, Paul does pull off—slowly, maintaining suction while one hand squeezes and strokes over his thigh.

Flake drifts, floating along the calm current of his post-orgasm haze. Paul crawls his way up Flake’s body, until his head pops out from under the blanket, his long hair a wild mess around his flushed, grinning face. He licks his lips. Flake blinks sluggishly and looks at him with a weak expression.

“Wow,” Paul laughs, moving to lay down on top of him, “That one really knocked your socks off, huh?”

“Shut up,” Flake grumbles, blushing. He wraps his arms around Paul, squeezing him. Paul smiles at him. Flake feels Paul’s very hard erection against his belly, caught under his briefs. He takes in a shuddering breath, searching in Paul’s dilated gray eyes, and then speaks softly.

“What do you want me to do for you?”

“I would like it if you jerked me off,” Paul murmurs, continuing to smile in that simple way of his, his eyes becoming lidded, propping his cheek against a hand, elbow against the bed. Flake blinks.

“You don’t want something more… Satisfying? Like, a blowjob? I’d even let you put it in me if you want to deal with the, uh… Preparation.”

“That’s the thing,” Paul sighs, rolling off of Flake to splat beside him among the mass of pillows, “I don’t want to. And, no offense, you suck at blowjobs. I love watching you, but it never really goes anywhere. Plus, you’re not careful enough with your teeth. Again—no offense. But, your hands are really nice and big. I like it when you touch me.”

“Wow, thanks,” Flake mutters, embarrassed, “Remind me to never blow you again.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” Paul huffs, rolling over to lay against his side, looking at him with a pout. Flake grumpily glares at him, a little wounded. Paul smooches him on the cheek and adds gently, “I do enjoy it, don’t get me wrong. It’s hot watching you try to. But when bringing me to orgasm is the goal, oral won’t cut it. Maybe if you combined it with your hands, sure, but…”

“I get it, I get it. I’m awful at blowjobs. But yes, I can use my hands if you want me to.”

Paul smiles at him happily. He arches up to press a loud, smacking kiss against Flake’s forehead, nose in his blonde hair, and whispers while pulling back to search his face, “I’ll grab the oil. It’s better that way.”

Blushing, Flake just nods, looking at him with bashful eyes. Paul delivers one departing peck to Flake’s lips and then jumps up from the bed to snatch the bottle from the cluttered side table, digging into the drawer of the rickety old thing until he finds it. When he leaps back onto the bed, jostling the entire thing, Flake laughs and moves to sit up. He realizes his boxers are still around his thighs. Embarrassed, he reaches out to pull them back up, raising his hips to do so.

“Don’t be shy,” Paul begins as he gets comfortable against the mountain of pillows, tugging down his own boxers and flinging them elsewhere, earning a meek glance from Flake. “The more of me you touch, the better. Not going to lie, I love when you kiss my body, too. You don’t do that enough, you know. I think you get too shy. But hey, let it be known: I want you to.”

Flake huffs and sits slumped over with awful posture, hiding his face with a turn of his head, dismissively waving a hand.

“Paul, please. You’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m just saying!” Paul remarks as he tosses the bottle of cooking oil his way, nudging him with his foot, “Now, get over here.”

Red-faced, Flake snatches up the oil and shuffles his way closer on his knees, peeking up to see Paul sweeping his long hair out of his face. And his cock is still hard, resting stiffly against his belly. Even now, it surprises Flake that Paul’s shaft is so lengthy, when fully hard, considering his overall size. Maybe the extra few inches he should’ve gotten in height ended up in his dick instead. Not that Paul is horrifically short, but still.

Paul watching him open the bottle and squeeze a dollop into his palm has Flake’s stomach flipping with nervousness. He isn’t very bold when his ministrations are the focus of attention, but it’s unavoidable. It’s dawning on him that it was smart of Paul to suck him off under the covers—no feeling of being watched and judged. Swallowing thickly, sweeping his tongue over his lips, Flake shifts a little closer until he’s kneeling beside Paul. Paul moves to sit up a little more. Flake bites his lip, deciding to just go for it. He reaches in with a broad hand to grip the base of his cock, angling it a bit to get a better look at it.

He’s uncut, the head pink and arching perfectly, peeking out from the fold of his foreskin. A soft bush of hair circles his cock, but it isn’t overwhelming. It compliments more than it takes away. Truth be told, he has a pretty dick. When it comes to the visual appeal, Paul is not lacking. At least there’s that—he doesn’t have an ugly cock that Flake would hate to have in his mouth. It makes sense though. Out of their group of friends, and honestly the entirety of the Berlin punk scene, Paul is among one of the best looking (which may or may not be something Flake is envious about, but it’s not something to think about lest it spoil his mood). With that in mind, Flake begins shyly moving his hand, foremost spreading the slick substance around his flushed shaft; his foreskin repeatedly envelopes the head, an arousing visual. Paul lets out an exhale of warm pleasure, and it certainly encourages the younger man.

“Er, wait,” Flake begins in a mumble, finding the positioning awkward for his wrist. He moves to kneel between Paul’s legs—Paul spreads them further apart to allow it. Flake is sitting back on his calves, back curved, head slightly hung in a lame attempt to hide his blushing face, one hand gripping Paul’s cock, the other curled into a shy fist atop the bed. He then begins moving his hand in a simple up and down motion at first, letting his broad fingers roaming along the flushed shaft, running over the crest of the head. Paul’s cock is completely stiff in his hand, tinted a lovely shade of red, as if he’s not far off to begin with despite the lack of stimulation.

Paul lets out another deep exhale, and Flake notices the way his thighs clench and relax, clench and relax. His hands are curled into the covers by his sides, his belly sucking in and releasing repeatedly. Flake smiles faintly to himself. Sometimes Paul can be so responsive in unspoken ways and he really likes it. Becoming bolder, Flake lifts his hand from the bed, stroking it across his freckled thigh, squeezing the lean muscle there.

Readjusting his grip around his slick shaft, Flake begins to stroke at him with a faster, tighter tempo. It is far from quiet in the silence of the room, accompanied by Paul’s grunt that emerges from between clenched teeth. Paul’s head falls back into the pillows, his long, wild hair framing his flushed face. The way he begins arching his hips up into it punches Flake in the gut. He licks his lips, shifting closer, watching his hand move over his reddened cock, wet and glistening from the oil. He can see a bead of pre-cum at the slit of his cock.

Spontaneously, Flake decides to lean in, back curling, to lap at the head of his cock, licking it up. Paul’s hips jerk, his head raising, a gasp ripping from him. Flake’s face burns brightly when an encouraging hand slides into his choppy blonde hair. Emboldened, he sucks the head into his mouth, especially mindful of his teeth after Paul’s comment. He moves his tight grip up and down while nursing at him, brow furrowed. The taste of the cooking oil is slimy and unpleasant on his tongue, but it’s bearable. Paul moans his name, gripping a light fistful of his hair. Flake brings his free hand up from Paul’s clenched thigh to cup and squeeze his balls, fingers broad and confident, while his other grip is kept busy, stroking continuously at Paul.

“Shit,” he hears Paul grit out. His legs are trembling on either side of him. Flake continues sucking at him, licking over the frenulum and the slit of his cock with the point of his tongue. Paul begins to gasp, moaning, his hand tightening in Flake’s hair to the point of pain. Focused, brow furrowed, Flake doesn’t even notice how Paul’s belly begins to heave, his legs closing around him, shaking.

“I’m coming, Flake—” Paul manages to get out, voice tight and face pinched, before a broken, harsh moan crawls out from his throat. Flake pulls off and continues pumping his hand over his slick cock, angling it away from himself so he shot his load up his belly and chest. Paul groans, head arched back, his face deeply flushed, blonde locks clinging to his jaw and neck with sweat.

Shame utterly absent, Flake’s curiosity gets the best of him. He removes his glasses, tossing them aside, and leans in. Angling his head, he mouths at Paul’s balls while slowly pulling at his dick, feeling it throb and pulsate in his grip. Paul gasps, lethargically rising up onto an elbow to look down and stare. Flake keeps his eyes closed, unable to face the embarrassment that begins to creep up on him. Flake nips at Paul’s inner thigh, earning another sucked in breath and a breathless laugh. He nuzzles into him, enjoying the warmth and intimacy found here, red-faced, and then finally sits back.

He’s almost thankful he can’t see Paul’s face that well when he opens his eyes. He releases his cock, letting it slap down wetly against Paul’s belly, covered in his semen and oil. Paul laughs, reaching up to scrape his sweaty locks from his face and neck.

“Well, then. Very smooth.”

“Shut up,” Flake mutters, pawing at the bed to find his glasses. Once he finds them, he slips them on, his face burning. “Before you say anything, don’t. You should shower because I don’t want the blankets to get disgusting.”

“Yeah, yeah. If I do, you _have_ to cuddle with me.”

“…As if that’s a bad thing? Why wouldn’t I?”

Without a word, Paul holds out a hand. Flake stares at it. Paul arches a brow at him, expectant. Staring at his friend’s (lover’s?) composed face, Flake slowly slides his hand into Paul’s. Paul firmly shakes it, and then gives him a grin, before climbing up off the bed. Flake sits there for ten seconds, puzzled, before he realizes his hands are covered in cooking oil. And his mouth is unpleasantly slimy. Getting up with a grimace on his face, he rushes after Paul to join him in the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
